THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER. 187 



Europe is weak, she hath grown old, her bulwarks are lain low ; 

 She is loth to hear the voice of war, she shrinketh from a foe : 

 Come, in our turn, let us sojourn in her goodly haunts of joy, 

 In the pillared porch to wave the torch, and her palaces destroy 

 Proud as when first thou slak'st thy thirst in the flow of con- 

 quered Seine, 



Ay, thou shalt lave within that wave thy blood-red flank again : 

 Then proudly neigh, &c. 



Kings are beleaguered on their thrones by their own vassal crew, 

 And in their den quake noblemen, and priests are bearded too. 

 And loud they yelp for the Cossack's help to keep their bondsmen 



down, 

 And they think it meet, while they kiss our feet, to wear a tyrant's 



crown. 

 The sceptre now to my lance shall bow, and the crosier and the 



cross, 

 All shall bend alike, when I lift my pike, and aloft that sceptre 



toss. 



Then proudly neigh, &c. 



In a night of storm, I have seen a form, and the figure was a giant, 

 And his eye was bent on the Cossack's tent, and his look was all 



defiant. 

 Kingly his crest, and toward the West with his battleaxe he 



pointed ; 

 And the form I saw was ATTILA of this earth the scourge 



anointed : 

 From the Cossack's camp let the horseman's tramp the coming 



crash announce ; 

 Let the vulture whet its beak sharp set on the carrion field to 



pounce ! 



And fiercely neigh, &c. 



